Soliloquy
by Halfelven hero
Summary: Delving into Edward's Thoughts. Songfic to Natasha St.-Pier's "Mourir Demain".


_**Title: Soliloquy**_

_**By: Zach Payne, A.K.A. Halfelven **_

_**Rated: K, some language and themes.**_

_**Notes: I think I caught Edward's thoughts well, even though I don't think I captured his diction or syntax very well. Forgive me if I've deviated from the canon, I've only read "Twilight" thus far :( . One Shot.**_

_**Disclaimers: The characters are property of Stephenie Meyer, and the song is by Natasha St.-Pier, though the translation is my own. **_

_Il y a ceux qui prendraient un avion / there are those who'd take a plane_

_D'autres qui s'enfermeraient chez eux / others who'd stay in their house_

_les yeux fermés / their eyes shut_

_toi qu'est-ce tu ferais? / You, what would you do?_

_Il y en a qui voudrait revoir la mer / some would visit the sea_

_D'autres qui voudraient encore faire l'amour / others who would again make love_

_une dernière fois / one last time_

_Toi, tu ferais quoi? / You, you would do what? _

What would I do, if I were to die tomorrow... a question that bears absolutely no meaning to me. Time ... is not the same enemy to me as it is for others. But in a sense, it is, I suppose. Each day that passes is another day that drives the wedge between myself and Bella just a little bit further. Each day that passes is another step closer to her being locked in the void beyond this world. The void that I will never reach. But if Bella were to die tomorrow, that is another question. I know what she would do... she'd be here, at my house, begging one of us to change her. She'd beg, she'd cry, she'd plead, and she'd probably convince either Alice or Else to change her. That makes me glad that humans cannot foresee their own deaths. Unfortunately, with Bella and her slight, oh, clumsiness problem, it could still be tomorrow, which doesn't exactly ease my dilemma.

Bella... my love and yet my pain. I am unbelieving that one so young would be willing to completely sacrifice their life... it's wrong... unnatural, unhealthy, even.

_Si on devait mourir demain / If we were to die tomorrow_

_qu'est-ce qu'on ferait de plus? / what would we do more?_

_qu'est-ce qu'on ferait de moins? / what would we do less?_

_si on devait mourir demain / if we were to die tomorrow_

_moi, je t'aimerai / me, I would love you_

I love her. Yes, of course I do. After all we've been through, it's impossible not to. That word, love, fills me with wonder, awe; in all my years, I haven't been able to say it truthfully, in the same way. I love Isabella Swan. It's embarrassing really, to say this, but she's a balm to my spirit, a spirit that I thought all but dead, until the first time I saw her. I find it funny that she thought I hated her. Understandable, Else seems to think that I look rather macabre, I just tell her it's "the style". As if there's any style in Forks.

_Il y a qui referaient leur passè / There are those who'd relive their pasts_

_Certains qui voudraient boire et faire la fête / those who would drink and party_

_jusqu'au matin / until morning_

_et d'autres qui prieraient / and those who would pray_

_Ceux qui s'en fichent et se donneraient du plaisir / and those who'd give pleasure_

_et d'autres qui voudraient encore partir / and those who would part_

_avant la fin / before the end_

_toi, qu'est-ce que tu ferais? / you, what would you do?_

I could change her... she is willing, after all... two or three days, and she would be one... she would be a ... she would be like me. Somebody who I would be able to spend an eternity in love with... in my mind, that's preferable to the alternative. But I can't wish that upon her... or anybody. We would still be ... together, as she ages, of course. At first I'd be her 'boyfriend', then her 'little brother', her 'son', eventually her 'grandson'. And then... well, and then, I'd be alone again. But it doesn't seem right... it doesn't seem the same. I would be able to keep her from death on her deathbed, at the very end, and then, she wouldn't miss out on the very life I was denied, and we would be one for eternity. But that... it doesn't... it wouldn't be the same.

She would probably find somebody else, anyway. She would find somebody who could give her children, who would grow old with her... and how could I deny her that, after insisting that she have a normal life? No, when her time came, she wouldn't want me to change her... she would want to pass on, and be with that man, and eventually, her children, in the void beyond. And even if she did, I think her age would... change things.

Perhaps I'm being superficial and callow. One's age ... means nothing ... it is simply an indication of time that's passed. Love should not be about age... but yet, I cannot deny that if I were to make Bella a vampire, I would do so ... sooner, rather than later. It's horrible, greedy, wanting to take away her ... life, before she even has a chance to live it.

But my heart... wants what it wants, I suppose. But for now, like always, I must obey the instincts of my intellect, my mind. But for how long must I continue to resist this urge? A while, I suppose... I must... I am well trained.

_Et toi, dis moi, est-ce que tu m'aimeras / and you, tell me, is it that you will love me_

_jusqu'à demain et tous les jours d'après? / up to tomorrow and all the days after?_

_que rien, non rien, ne s'arrêtera jamais / nothing, no, nothing, will keep us apart_

_Si on devait mourir demain / If we were to die tomorrow_

_moi, je t'aimerai / me, I would love you_

It's difficult... to deny my love, my salvation from what could be best described as an eternal hell, something that I also want... but I must. Those words pain me, even as I scribe them in ink, even the thought of them causes a dagger to go through what once was my heart. But someday, she will leave. She will grow older, but I'll still be a child, if only in physical form. I cannot ask her to live in a world of solitude, while the world shuns her for apparent pedophilia, nor can I take away her life... her precious life, and make her live this demi-life. Forcing her to go through the hell of learning to control her urge for blood, and then, the eternity, which she may regret after 10, 50, 60, 150, 200, 1500 years of being alive, of being a rock, forever doomed to sit stranded on the shore, as the river of live rolls along, watching the sun and moon rise and fall overhead, but never moving, only being.

_Si on avait jusqu'à demain / If we had just 'till tomorrow_

_Pour vivre tout ce qu'on a rêvé / to live all that we've dreamed_

_Si on devait mourir demain / If we were to die tomorrow_

_moi, je t'aimerai / me, I would love you._

If we had only until tomorrow... in my dreams, that would never be a problem, for we'd both be eternal... but until I master my heart and live with my mind, however cold a life that might be... I have to say, that if Bella were to die tomorrow, I would die tomorrow.


End file.
